


Years

by emmish, Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Boys Kissing, Fireworks, First Kiss, First Time, Kissing, Love, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss...sort of, New Years, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmish/pseuds/emmish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: Emmish and I wrote this last year but didn't have it finished/edited in time for the New Year.It's still not completely edited, so it might be fiddled with by both of us at some time, but...wanted to share this anyway!Enjoy!





	Years

**Author's Note:**

> Emmish and I wrote this last year but didn't have it finished/edited in time for the New Year.
> 
> It's still not completely edited, so it might be fiddled with by both of us at some time, but...wanted to share this anyway!
> 
> Enjoy!

“ _Clearly_ they have no concept of time,” Sherlock grumbled from his lounging position on his chair, his legs extended out across the rug, bare toes clenching, as another two pops of fireworks went off from somewhere in the distance. “How can people celebrate the New Year when it is still the current year? Idiots.” He had been grousing and complaining for three hours straight. Sherlock hated New Years. Or that’s what he said. Yet another firework exploded into the dark night sky, and Sherlock huffed. “ _Ridiculous_.”

"Just think, people in America won't be celebrating yet. And the Aussies have done it already," John informed him, mostly for the pleasure of seeing the detective squirm at the discrepancy.

Sherlock turned his glower onto him slowly, peering from under his mussed fringe and dropped eyebrows, “Be quiet.”

"You can't stop the music and yells and fireworks so there's not much point grumbling about it," John shrugged, adjusting a pink paper hat from the leftover Christmas crackers on his head. "Sure you don't want one?" he asked, waggling a silver cracker in front of his flatmate's petulant face.

“Quite sure,” Sherlock replied with a condescending, fleeting smile, and swatted it aside roughly before glancing at the time on his phone, grimacing as another firework went off. He stood fluidly and paced before the fireplace. He was like a distressed animal, his hackles raised and his eyes narrowed.

"I _bet_ you don't know how these work," John murmured airily, making a show of inspecting the cracker.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You’ve discovered my secret. However did you figure it out?” he drawled in deep sarcasm and then shot him a sudden glaring look. “ _Don’t_!”

"Don't what? Ask you to pull my cracker?" John teased, idly scraping glitter from the cracker in question with a thumbnail.

“Stop being annoying,” Sherlock said in reply with a sullen tone, storming over to try and both snatch the cracker from John’s hand and flick off the paper crown.

"Get off, prick," John instructed fondly, defending his crown and cracker. "Let me have this one thing. It only happens once a year."

“Can’t it happen once a year, _away_ from me?” Sherlock put his hands on his hips and then turned to pace again, gritting his teeth at yet another early firework pop.

"If I had a date, _God knows_ I would be somewhere else," the doctor retorted, sounding more harsh than he'd intended.

“I didn’t force you to stay here,” Sherlock sighed through his nose sharply and gestured with one hand. “Lestrade invited you out. You should have gone. Give me some peace. Perhaps you would have gotten ‘lucky’ with one of the pathetic women there? There are a lot of them. And you _always_ seem to find them. – They’d be drunk too, meaning they’d be ten times as pathetic as normal,” he snapped and took another five paces, glared out of the window, glanced at his phone, and then stormed out of the living room moodily, stomping through the kitchen and down the short corridor to his room, slamming the door after him.

"I _was_ going to open the Champagne. Or is that pathetic too?" John yelled after him.

“I _hate_ Champagne!” Sherlock retorted from his bedroom.

"No you don't. I know for a fact that you get giggly on fizzy booze. You _love_ it. Come on, it might cheer you up."

“There are two things that will cheer me up, for the day to be over and for you to _shut up_!” Sherlock shouted, apparently in full sulk mode. There was a bang and a squeak of the bed, and John could just about imagine the lanky detective dramatically sprawled over the mattress, knowing without a doubt that would be the picture if he went to look.

"The day is _over_. It's night," John yelled, barely able to restrain a chuckle. "Alright. You stay in there and wank. I'm gonna celebrate."

“Fine!” Sherlock shot back.

John burst out laughing, "I was joking about that last part. Deviant."

“Piss off!”

"Oh, Sherlock. That's not nice. Not the way to start a brand new, shiny year. If you don't cheer up and come out, I'm coming in there."

“Don’t you bloody dare. Stay out there with your stupid paper hat and your lacklustre cracker, and enjoy the mass of idiots outside who can’t seem to _wait_ for the accurate moment to let off their naff fireworks! – Relish your cheap Champagne while you’re at it too, which I do _not_ like!”

"You're not immune to happiness, Sherlock. – If you insist, I'm coming in. And I'm going to force this joyous time upon you," he grinned, going to his flatmate's door and rapping his knuckles on it noisily.

“You say that like _everyone_ is happy around this time. That’s incorrect. People merely _pretend_ to be happy. And I will not conform to the moronic masses and their fake cheer,” Sherlock said through the door. “Go. Away.”

"Nope," John replied. "You know that misery loves company? Fair warning," John announced, opening the door and striding in.

Sherlock, who was standing with his hands on his hips a few feet away from the door, scowled at him, “Why don’t you just go to that blasted party?” he muttered.

"Because, believe it or not, I actually _like_ you a fair bit. And I fancied staying home. I didn't know you were going to be such a grump."

“You know I think it’s pointless,” Sherlock said though his tone had lowered at John’s words and he shifted, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’m uninterested in Christmas, New Year, Easter, Halloween, Birthdays - basically any and all holidays. They’re irrelevant to me. They’re just about tedious commercialism and nothing more.”

"You didn't complain when I got you that dodo skull for your birthday," John shrugged, boldly going to sit on the detective's pristine bed and hopefully offering forth his cracker once more.

“I’d _thought_ you were just…giving me a gift at first. I actually hadn’t realised it was my birthday until you said so,” Sherlock mumbled and gave the cracker a look of disgust as he sighed and stepped over. “If I pull the sodding cracker with you, will you stop being so infuriating?”

"No promises," John beamed winningly, feeling smug at his little victory.

With a contortion of his mouth, clearly stifling an answering smile, Sherlock took hold of the offered end, “I greatly dislike you for this. I thought we were through with the crackers at Christmas.”

"There are always leftover crackers. It's one of the great mysteries of the Universe." John pulled at the same time Sherlock did, and with the resulting bang and burnt fragrance, a green paper hat and a plastic wedding-style ring fell out onto the floor.

“I’m _not_ putting the hat on. Not again,” Sherlock told him and lifted his part of the cracker to not so subtly smell the burning, like he’d done at Christmas.

"Go on. It's _green_ ," John pointed out, as if that was reason enough.

“No, John,” Sherlock huffed, discarding the cracker piece once he was done and glancing down at the ring, nudging it with his toe.

John picked it up and playfully tried it on his finger, watching it wobble, "Too big. Care to try?"

Sherlock gave him a look of displeasure, “Why would I do that?” he groused and turned away.

"You're turning into an old git, Sherlock," John tutted, grabbing the detective's left hand, which was surprisingly cool to the touch, and sliding the ring onto his third finger.

“And you’re being tiresomely childish,” Sherlock complained and tried to pull his hand away with a half-hearted glare.

"What are you talking about, 'childish?' That's legally binding, that is," John said, nodding toward the cheap plastic ring on Sherlock's finger.

Sherlock pressed his lips together tightly, again stifling what could have been a smile or a laugh, “Enough with this,” he said, tone soft as he stepped back and moved to tug the ring off.

" _Stop it_. It suits you," John laughed. While Sherlock was distracted, he stood, quickly unfolded the emerald-green hat, and plonked it in the detective's curls by standing on tiptoe.

“…Why must I suffer? Haven’t I suffered enough?” Sherlock looked up at the hat with a heated stare of petulance, though he left it where John had placed it, and only sighed heavily in objection.

"Because it makes me happy. That's what best friends do," John teased, heading back out and towards the kitchen. "I'm pouring you a drink."

“No! I _don’t_ want a stupid drink!” Sherlock replied grumpily, tailing him.

John ignored him, forgoing the Champagne and instead pouring a finger of Sherlock's favourite whiskey, "I _know_ this is expensive. And you probably wouldn't let me drink it. So you'd better have it," the doctor reasoned, glancing at Sherlock and grinning at his hat.

Sherlock looked skyward with frustration, extending his hand for it, “This is a terrible waste. New Years does not deserve whiskey.”

"For _goodness sake_ , Sherlock. Then just drink to..." John gesticulated in frustration as he tried to think of something, "...Our engagement," he suggested, pointing at the naff cracker ring on the taller man's finger.

“Brilliant. A toast to an inane fictitious engagement, that’s _definitely_ not a waste,” Sherlock said sardonically with a monotone voice and glanced at the ring in overdramatic disgust. He swirled the whiskey around in his glass and then knocked it back after a faint grumble. “ _There_. Happy? I drank. Hooray.”

Feeling distinctly peeved, John frowned at him, "You're ruining my good mood."

“ _Good_ ,” Sherlock snorted and loudly put the empty glass down on the kitchen table.

"Do you want a challenge, is that it? Something to think about other than being a _miserable sod_?"

“I’m hoping for a murder. Possibly a massacre. A _clever_ one,” Sherlock replied.

"If you don't cheer up, there's going to be one in this flat," John muttered darkly, wincing at a particularly deafening bang, as a firework seemed to explode directly above the building.

Sherlock scowled at the noise and retreated to his bedroom again, “Sometimes I wish I could hibernate whenever I pleased, for as long as I wanted.”

"What are you talking about, you do that _all_ the time," John insisted, following him.

“Go watch the television or something equally as mind numbing,” Sherlock told him, waving a hand, the same hand with the ring. He regarded it and then began grappling to pull it off, frowning when it only went so far. “Stupid…piece…of… _rubbish_!”

Surprising himself almost as much as he surprised Sherlock, John found himself slapping at the detective's hand, before grabbing his biceps and slamming him roughly against the nearest wall.

Sherlock’s head bounced off it with a thud and he clenched his jaw, closing his eyes in a faint grimace, “ _Ow_ ,” he breathed, glowering through his lashes at John as his paper hat slipped and fell from his head.

"Sorry," John offered in a strained voice, but he didn't move, or relinquish his grip on Sherlock's warm upper arms.

“It’s just another day to me,” Sherlock said. “A day filled with nothing but tedium and fakery and annoying morons who still cannot tell the time!” He glared off at the window after another few pops of fireworks. “ _Another_ remainder that life is short. That a year can go by so fast. _Too_ fast. That what I have right now may very well be _gone_ the next…” He looked back at John deliberately.

"That's _very_ true," John uttered in a broken growl, licking his lips and pressing up against Sherlock, inhaling the other man's gasp of surprise before commandeering his mouth in a tight kiss.

Sherlock stiffened and brought his hands up in a flinch, banging his head back into the wall again as he went to jerk away in reaction, “ _What_ are you doing?” he whispered when he’d turned his face aside, pushing at John’s shoulders with a shaky and sharp exhale.

"...I...I just...ah, _fuck_ ," John muttered, scrubbing his hand agitatedly through his hair, dislodging the pink party hat in the process.

“You just kissed me. _You_. You kissed me. You… _kissed_ …me.” Sherlock seemed to be stuck on a loop, dazed and overcome, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"Yeah... _God_ , look...I didn't mean to...upset you," John said cautiously, standing back, crushing the paper hat underfoot as he did so.

“Huh? _What_? Upset me?” Sherlock blinked and swallowed. “You…you didn’t – _haven’t_ – but you just…” He touched his mouth with his fingertips, still stunned and apparently unable to form coherent thoughts or sentences.

"I _shouldn't_ have," John added, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously, convinced he had tarnished Sherlock in some invisible, unspeakable way.

“Why _did_ you?” Sherlock asked him with a frown. “It’s not even midnight…” The joke fell flat and Sherlock didn’t laugh or smile at it, his frown deepening.

"...Partly just to get you to _shut up_ and stop moaning," John huffed with a weak laugh.

“…Oh.” Sherlock lowered his gaze and nodded. “Objective accomplished then.”

"I'm...I might just...go," John said feebly, clearing his throat and quickly heading out the door, towards the stairs to his bedroom.

Sherlock’s hand snagged at his elbow the moment he past through the detective’s doorway to get out into the corridor leading to the kitchen, “ _Don’t_ ,” he murmured.

With a hefty sigh, John reluctantly turned back to face the man, "I'm not going to apologise. I'm _not_ sorry."

“For shutting me up?” Sherlock asked though it was with an awkwardly teasing tone. “You _never_ are sorry.”

"Well, it stopped you complaining for two minutes," John responded weakly, his fists clenching in unconscious anxiety. "Goodnight Sherlock. Happy New Year. Well, nearly."

Sherlock grimaced and huffed, “John, listen…you…I mean, _we_ …” he trailed off and then rubbed at his face. “Don’t go. _Please_.”

"Why not?" John asked quietly, wincing at a nearby rat-tat-tat of fireworks.

“Just…don’t,” Sherlock replied and gently curled his fingers into John’s jumper, pulling and signalling him back into the bedroom.

Capitulating, John allowed himself to be pulled back over the threshold. "... _Please_ don't read my mind," he laughed self-consciously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes a little, “I won’t,” he told him, leading him to the bed and then pushing him down on it.

John's fight or flight instincts finally kicked in as it dawned on him like a nuclear blast that Sherlock seemed to be propositioning him. His breathing quickened and his pulse started to race, throbbing in his temples and wrists. "I don't think this is a good idea, Sherlock," he warned.

“ _No_?” Sherlock mumbled as he moved over to shut the bedroom door with a gentle hand, the plastic ring still on his finger. “Why not?”

"Because I _won't_ let you go," John said simply.

Sherlock paused, still facing the door, and then took a deep breath, “Good,” he whispered, pulling out his phone and placing it down on the bedside table with a brief glance. “Ten seconds until midnight.”

“That means you’ve got ten seconds to back out,” John informed him, sitting up straighter and thrilling as the detective approached him.

“Same to you,” Sherlock said. He moved to stand several inches from John, not quite touching him, and looked at him in intense scrutiny.

John stared him out confidently, even though his nerves were fizzing, "No chance."

Sherlock’s mouth quirked and he crouched down in front of him, one of his hands resting on John’s knee with a bloom of heat, “Six seconds…” he breathed.

" _Sod it_ ," John whispered, shaking his head, and grabbed the taller man's cool, angular face, directing it forcefully against his own pursed mouth, sighing gratefully at the contact.

Sherlock surged up and shoved John backwards onto the bed, stopping their kiss as he leaned over him, falling to his elbows as they clumsily bumped against one another. There was a brief pause where Sherlock seemed to stare into John’s eyes, incredibly close and trembling, and then he cupped John’s jaw in both hands and reconnected their lips with a moist, hot, and shaky breath.

The intensity of Sherlock's pale gaze, his sweet breath and his plump-firm lips were enough to make John groan, a lump in his throat and a stammer in his heartbeat. Forcing himself through it, he twisted Sherlock easily, manipulating his greater weight to the side, and then onto his back, kissing him ferociously hard as he mounted him.

Sherlock pushed his scrambling, hot, long-fingered hands up John’s arms and across his back in reaction, the countdown continuing unheard and unacknowledged by them both. The bedroom was bathed in dim light and John, when he shifted back and looked, was confronted with the gorgeous view of Sherlock’s pleasure slackened face. Something he’d not really seen before. His sharp, searching eyes were now closed, eyelashes black, fluttering smears against the white paleness of his skin, and his mouth was red and kiss-swollen. It was strangely breath taking knowing that John had been the one, the reason, to make Sherlock look that way. Sherlock was under him, against him, the taste of him still lingering on John’s tongue, his lips. He’d never thought such a thing could happen, or that he even wanted it to.

After a beat, Sherlock slowly peered up, looking as overcome and entranced as John felt, and the moment he did was the same moment the skies outside exploded in glittering, flashing, sparklingly, spreading fireworks. The colours, the light, were suddenly all reflected in the widening pupil of Sherlock’s eyes, an ethereal sight. Mesmerising. He smiled at John, lights and colours playing over the planes of his cheeks, and tugged him down within the banging snap of a red, popping firework.

"... _Mh_...Sherl-mf," John tried, as the detective feasted hungrily upon his mouth, his large hands kneading and pressing and scraping everywhere he could.

“Mm?” Sherlock replied in a low, husky sort of a hum, one that was integrated with a groan of delight as he arched up and urged John further down.

"I said I wouldn't let you go, and I _meant_ it, but...if we start doing... _this_ ," he gestured awkwardly, "I'll end up... _you know_..."

Sherlock gave him one last, long press of lips, and then leaned back with a frown, “What?” he asked and then blinked, tensing and dropping his hands away, looking instantly anxious. “I did something wrong?”

" _No_! Of course not. _God_ , no, you're...amazing," he muttered. "But I think _this_ constitutes more than a New Year's peck."

“…All right,” Sherlock murmured, evidently still lost on what John meant. He shifted under John’s weight in a nervous fidget, the fireworks highlighting his wildly mussed curls, outlining and dyeing them blue, orange, pink, white.

"Look, if you _want_ it, it's fine. It's _all fine_. But you _need_ to understand what's happening here," John tried, hoping he didn't sound as condescending as he thought he did.

Sherlock nodded but then gave him a rough squint, “We…we _were_ kissing…”

"Yeah...we were. – And… _Wow_. I didn't think it would be...so..." John laughed breathlessly, running a hand through Sherlock's wild curls and scrunching them gently in his fist.

With a swift grin, Sherlock pushed into John’s touch and leaned up so their noses touched, “ _Yes_ ,” he exhaled, touching John’s arms again and following them to smooth across his shoulders.

"Do you _want_ to...carry on? We could just...snog a bit, if you want. _Whatever_ you want. I promise."

“ _You’re_ the one who stopped,” Sherlock scoffed and moved back again to peer into John’s face. “Tell me what _you_ think is happening here? You said that I need to understand it. Understand _what_?”

"…That...you're more of a firework than those out there," John snickered, nodding at the window. "And you're making me want to rip your clothes off."

Sherlock’s face flushed in an instant and he glanced briefly at the window with a blink, “I…hadn’t realised there even _were_ fireworks out there…”

"Yes. Remember? New Year. Boring and stupid. And the reason we're currently in this position," he laughed, blushing, and depositing a few tender kisses onto Sherlock's succulent lips.

Humming happily, Sherlock returned them, “ _Ah yes_. I remember now,” he said with a twisting and delighted smile, coiling one arm around John and pulling him close.

John grinned incredibly happy with the response, his confidence, desire and ego well and truly boosted, and started teasing Sherlock, pecking and sucking at the corner of his mouth, nipping his bottom lip, licking at his cupid's-bow, and beaming every time he avoided Sherlock's quest for a real kiss.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock huffed with amusement, knocking their noses as he excitedly angled and turned his head to try and catch John by surprise. His hands stroked from the nape of John’s neck to his tailbone and back again, the plastic ring digging into him as John made little dissuasive, playful noises whilst he feinted from the insistent lips. Reaching behind him, John grasped his flatmate's adorned hand, and brought it to his mouth, kissing at the plastic jewel, chuckling.

Rolling his eyes in reply, Sherlock tried to once again tug it off, “I can’t _believe_ it even fit me. Plastic rings never fit _anyone_.”

"Made for you, clearly," John huffed. "Leave it alone, I _like_ it." Finally, he gifted Sherlock with a proper kiss, settling his hips very carefully onto the detective, which had been hovering just beyond touch for fear of alarming Sherlock.

As he lowered, Sherlock gave a low, gravelly and excessively unrestrained grunt, wriggling at having John almost entirely against him, “You like it _that_ much?” he teased, speaking against John’s mouth with a laugh and an arched eyebrow. “If I had known that plastic rings did it for you, I’d have bought a whole tub full a lot earlier.”

"...What can I say, cheap jewellery on expensive men just gets me worked up," John murmured, squeezing Sherlock's hand one last time before settling properly on top of him, sternum to ankles.

He could feel almost every inch of Sherlock’s quivering, tensing body, and the man sighed in pleasure, tipping his head back with a hitching moan, “ _Oh God_ …”

"See what I meant?" John asked, giving a very slight bump of his crotch against Sherlock's lower abdomen.

With a taut twitch in return, Sherlock swallowed and dropped his hands to the bed beneath him to grip absentmindedly, “No,” he breathed. “I _feel_ what you meant though…” He gave a deep snorting chuckle and shifted.

"Good one," John smirked, stroking through Sherlock's crisp curls with slightly tremble-y fingertips. "I tell you what, if this year carries on like this..."

“…Yes?” Sherlock asked when John hadn’t expanded on his thought. He was breathing a little heavily and heat was pouring off him in waves. It was enchanting.

"...Well...it _might_ just be a good one," John grinned, his clownish smile lighting up his face.

Sherlock returned the grin, “ _Just_ good?”

"...Exhausting, potentially. _Look_ at the state of you," John told him with some fondness. "Is it okay if I undress you?"

There was a moment of stillness, of Sherlock tensing and flicking his eyes, and then he flew into action, unbuttoning his shirt with a strained exhale and almost head-butting then smacking John in the process. The fireworks were still going off, still splashing the room with colours and light, and it made Sherlock’s movements all the more dizzying to watch.

" _Wait_ , wait!" John laughed, stilling the frantic, strong hands. "Let me?"

“… _Oh_. Right. Yes. Of course,” Sherlock wheezed until he cleared his throat and flitted his gaze around the room in sudden embarrassment. “Undress me _completely_?”

John immediately drew back, "I won't, if you don't want me to. I could just take your shirt off for now?" He illustrated his suggestion by resting his smaller hand upon the nearly-smooth skin of Sherlock's exposed right pectoral. The splatter and bang of countless fireworks outside painted fleeting rainbow mosaics all over his chest.

“Are we…” Sherlock gestured inelegantly and then cleared his throat a second time. “Previously, did you…were you _implying_ you wanted to…sleep…with me?”

Pausing long enough for Sherlock to note that he was considering lying, John nodded after deciding the truth would be best, "It...crossed my mind."

Sherlock exhaled like he’d been punched in the gut, “ _Oh_.” He blinked rapidly with a full body shudder and then shifted up onto his elbows. “Um. Right – _Properly_?” Rolling his eyes in a way that was filled with nervousness, Sherlock rotated his wrist and waved his fingers in a vague gesticulation. “I mean…with penetration? Or…there’s the… _other_ …ways…without penetration. Not _everything_ is centred on penetration after all. Pleasure can be garnered through several other—”

"Sherlock, _stop_. Please. We don't have to do this now. Or _ever_. I wasn't thinking much about specifics. Only that any activity ending in us both coming would be...might be... _very_ good," John admitted.

“…Ah. Yes. Sorry,” Sherlock babbled, blushing hot under John’s gaze, picking and twisting the duvet between his fingers.

"Don't be sorry. Ignore me _and_ my dick. There's no pressure to do anything with it. I can manage that myself later," John laughed, scrubbing his own hair in embarrassment.

Sherlock cringed down in discomfort and smiled at John meekly with a short laugh of his own, “ _Well_. I, uh, I…” He shifted and moved out from under John a little to sit up better. “It’s not like I’m not… _up_ for it. _Any_ of it. I just don’t know what you were planning on…um… _doing_ with me. – But I’m game for… _anything_ …” He grimaced at his wording though nodded down at his own crotch, signalling to the blatant and prominent bulge there. “ _Obviously_.”

"Never thought I'd see the day," John quipped, getting off Sherlock to recline beside him on the bed. "Okay…I'm just going to..." he laid his hand upon Sherlock's stiffness, thumbing it softly, and it pulsed with Sherlock’s impulsive hitched breath, the twitch of his hips, and his juddering stomach.

Sherlock glanced down at John’s hand, swiftly panting through his nose and the flush on his face spread like wild fire down his neck, over his chest, and even stretched out to weave between his contracting abdominal muscles. He seemed highly sensitive to such a simple touch and John felt him grow and harden so fast under his hand that Sherlock lay back, looking dizzy.

Though John was extremely tempted to see how far he could push this extraordinary sensitivity, John managed to pull back, resting his digits instead on Sherlock's lean hip, "Has it...been a while?" he asked carefully, voice kept at a low and soothing pitch.

Sherlock pressed his lips together, clenched his jaw, and then nodded, “Yes,” he disclosed quietly.

"...How about...how about you show me what you like? For now?" John trembled with a cold anxiety the moment he finished the question, fearing he had asked too much.

“Show you what I…” Sherlock lifted his head, his eyebrows raised. “You mean you want to _watch_ me masturbate?”

John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed self-consciously. "That's...that's what I was getting at, yeah."

Sherlock smirked at him, noticeably having enjoyed the reaction, and then pushed up to sit, “All right,” he murmured, reaching to undo his trousers with unsteady fingers. The moment they were loose and open, Sherlock sighed silently in relief and gave John a shy sort of peek as he crumpled them down his thighs and kicked them off, sitting back close in his clinging underwear and opened shirt.

John was gnawing upon his thumb knuckle before he had even registered that he'd put it in his mouth. With a breathless sort of groan, he shook his head, "You have _no_ idea how you look right now."

“I look half naked and ridiculously out of place beside someone who’s still _fully dressed_ ,” Sherlock said in a faint huff and gave a pointed look at John, nudging him with one elbow.

It took John a few seconds to compute, and then he smiled foolishly as he unpicked the buttons of his maroon shirt, soon easing it from his shoulders, subtly angling himself in such a way to prevent Sherlock getting an eyeful of the raised, white-pink scar on his left side.

“Trousers too,” Sherlock rumbled croakily from beside him, having shrugged out of his shirt completely.

"Alright, alright...no rush," John sniggered, undoing his jeans with a sultry groan of relief and a tantalising zipping noise. Raising his hips, he pushed the sturdy fabric down and off his legs, nudging them to the end of the large bed.

Sherlock shifted and pressed their legs together, comparing their knees for a moment or two as he slipped an overly warm arm around John’s bare shoulders, “ _Good_.”

Wordlessly, John turned to face him, splaying one hand upon Sherlock's belly, whilst the other braced him on luxurious white pillows. He gave him a few small, quick kisses, pulling back each time to enjoy the dizziness in Sherlock's grey-green eyes, though rapidly the kisses became longer, harder, and noisier. It was addicting, like the man himself. John had been addicted from the start.

Giving a reverberating moan, Sherlock tightened his hold and pulled John closer, deepening the next few kisses with a passion that seemed endless, fingers digging in so hard that John felt his nails cutting into his skin with sparks of arousal, “Mm—We should turn off the lights in the living room,” Sherlock abruptly said, pulling away to turn and look at the light leaking under the bedroom door.

"What for?" John murmured nearly sub-sonically, adjusting his position to suck suggestively at the long, stunning neck.

Sherlock shivered and arched his head back, giving John more access, “ _Because_ …” he started, groping at John’s naked spine, waist and then his hip, “Mrs Hudson, once she’s back from her annoying celebratory get-together with Mrs Turner, will notice and… _come up_ to wish us a Happy New Year and I’d rather she _didn’t_ …”

"…Let's make this quick then," John instructed, standing from the bed and holding out his hand. "Don't think I'm going _all_ the way to the living without being able to kiss you."

“So _needy_ ,” Sherlock sarcastically complained with a smile, taking John’s offered hand and slipping from the bed himself. He leaned in for a soft kiss, letting it linger and deepen, but ultimately pulled back.

"So _obliging_ ," John shot back, laughing sweetly.

“Hm. Yes. _Only_ for you,” Sherlock murmured in reply and led John out of the bedroom and through to the short hallway. He switched the kitchen light off and then the one in the living room, giving a fleetingly look out the window at the continuous flowering lights in the sky. “How long?” His question seemed to come out of the blue, but he turned to John with a soft expression, continuing on. “Have you _always_ wanted…this?”

"I...don't know," John answered honestly, with a brief shrug. "Every time I started considering it, I forced the idea away," he murmured, avoiding Sherlock's gaze.

“Of course.” Sherlock uneasily shifted on his feet, altering his weight from one foot to the other, before he turned, released John’s hand, and walked back to the bedroom in the dark.

"It didn't seem... _feasible_ ," John added, following him with caution. "You _must_ understand?"

Sherlock nodded, “Yes.” He shot John a quick smile and then sat on the edge of his bed.

"I can hear your brain going into Sulk Mode again. _Please_ don't," John beseeched, surprising the detective by taking his shoulders for support, and then clambering into his lap, facing him with a cheeky grin.

“I’m _not_ going into ‘Sulk Mode,’” Sherlock huffed and curled one arm around John’s waist as he adjusted him. He peered up and stroked the skin on his lower back, twirling and skating his fingertips in endless, twirling patterns. “…Marry me?”

John burst out laughing, and then quickly sobered at the look of outrage and indignation on Sherlock's face. Gaping for a few seconds, he finally uttered, "... _Bloody hell_."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and pursed his mouth, dropping his hands to his sides, “Yes. _Hilarious_. – Get off me.”

"... _No_ , Sherlock - calm down and shut up for a second," John tutted, though he acquiesced and eased off Sherlock's lap to sit beside him, one hand on his warm thigh. " _That_ is one of the most _random_ things I've ever heard you say."

Sherlock scowled down at his own knees, “ _Really_? Ever? Well, that’s quite something. – Please _leave_.”

"No," John said flatly, giving the taller man a firm nudge, " _How_ is that going to help anything? I thought we were making love."

“Well, I’ve…changed my mind,” he muttered, his face blotchy. He was silent for a split second and then he glanced at John with a frown. “You still want to?”

"Look, if you're the 'no sex before marriage type,’ I'm _completely_ fine with that… which is why we should _definitely_ continue."

Sherlock stared at him, frozen in place, gaze unfocused, and then shook his head, squinting hard as he turned to try and face him, “Wait… _what_?”

"Yeah, _genius_ , work it out. – _Seriously_. A proposal on New Year's Eve. You softy," John grinned, kissing him.

His lips were motionless as he openly gawped, face reddening further in reaction, “ _Really_?” he whispered. “I…I can do it properly. If you…if that’s a thing you want…” He gestured limply with both hands and peered at John, looking between John’s eyes hurriedly. “You _laughed_ though. I…thought you weren’t interested in—I mean, I _can_ understand, I suppose. What with it being so spontaneous and…and you… _forced_ things away and didn’t think it was _feasible_ for a reason…and you _laughed_ …”

"Don't get me wrong. It's _incredibly_ unexpected. Before today I figured you had _zero_ interest in me - _that way_. I'm half-convinced I'm dreaming. A very, _very_ good dream," John chuckled.

“ _Ah_. Yes. I…suppose…that’s true – The bit about me, I mean. I didn’t exactly shout it from the highest peak.” Sherlock shrugged and looked away, shifting. “So…you’d be up for that then? The, um, the _thing_ that I asked?”

"Be specific. Although God knows it's hardly necessary. I'm _practically_ your spouse already."

Sherlock’s lips twitched and then bloomed into a smirk, “Practically,” he agreed, shifting his hand over to stroke the side of John’s bare thigh with a tender touch.

"Your poor, downtrodden husband. _Nothing_ would change at all," John teased, taking Sherlock's tentative hand in his own and cradling it, fondling the hard knuckles and squeezing the mound of his thumb fondly.

With a puff of laughter, Sherlock coyly glanced away and then shifted closer, leaning in to kiss John’s cheek, and then his jaw, breathing in against his skin, “There’d be a _little_ bit of a change,” he murmured.

"Oh yes. The _blowjobs_ ," John nodded sagely, watching for Sherlock's reaction to this crudeness.

Sherlock snorted, “Amongst _other_ things,” Sherlock said with a wide grin, smoothing one hand up John’s back as he nuzzled down John’s neck.

"‘Other things’ indeed. Right, I think we've done enough talking for a bit. Agreed?" John rested his face in Sherlock's thick curls with a faint, gratified sigh.

“Agreed,” Sherlock mumbled, nose pressed into the junction between neck and shoulder. He kissed John there affectionately, rubbing his hand between John’s shoulder blades, and then pulled away to slither into the centre of the bed, resting on his back with a beaming, suggestive grin.

"Which way do you prefer it?" John asked in a whisper, sneaking on top of him and starting to kiss repeatedly at his clavicles.

Sherlock held him close and between his long, lean legs, hooking one of them across John’s back clumsily, “Prefer…sex?” he asked gauchely, voice vibrating against John’s lips.

"Yes, _sex_ ," John smiled, amused. "But do you like it...I mean, have you ever been...on the bottom, as it were?" he asked sheepishly.

“…Aren’t I on the bottom now?” Sherlock asked in confusion, pushing his fingers through John’s hair in a constant petting and caressing that altered from lustfully clawing to tenderly stroking.

John let out a small grating noise every time Sherlock's short nails dragged pleasure through his scalp, hardly having been aware that it was even something he enjoyed. He rolled his hips very slightly across Sherlock's crotch in a ghost of penetration. "...What I _mean_ is, would you rather be inside _me_? Or..."

“Oh,” Sherlock muttered and then paused all movement as John’s words filtered through his brain. “ _Oh_! – Um. I see. _That_. Yes. I, uh… which do _you_ want?”

"Let's start off simple," John reassured him, pulling back enough to hook his fingers inside the waistband of Sherlock's dark underwear. Before he did anything however, he glanced at him with eyebrows raised, wordlessly asking for permission.

Sherlock shrugged somewhat nervously and then gave a small nod, hands shifting through John’s hair again as his breathing and pulse sped up, “I like your hair,” he murmured as John pulled the waistband down, exposing Sherlock’s flushed pelvis and the pale, thickening shaft of his half hard penis. “I’ve _always_ wanted to…run my fingers through it – So many shades of blond, most bleached by the sun. Golden and silvery and flaxen.” His breath hitched as more of his groin was uncovered, and he swallowed, lifting his hips to let John pull his underwear the rest of the way off, freeing and revealing all of him. His growing erection sprang free with a soft pat of skin against skin, the rosy, gleaming tip leaving a slight smear of pre-ejaculate.

John was going to reply to Sherlock, but his mouth fell open when the taller man was unclothed. "...You _have_ been holding out on us," he grinned, very gently nestling a few fingers in the warm auburn curls between his legs.

“What…does that mean?” Sherlock muttered as he glanced down with a twitch of his thighs. He flicked his eyes to where John’s fingers were and John noticed that his shaft throbbed and engorged further in interest.

"It means, if people didn't already want to pin you down and shag you through the floor, they would if they knew about _this_ ," John nodded, extending his thumb to catch a dewdrop of ejaculate on it.

Sherlock’s penis jerked as he pushed up to one elbow, “What? _Why_?” he asked.

"I never thought I'd say this about anyone...but it's _lovely_. Substantial," he enlightened him. "Well-endowed men are supposed to be, _you know_ , God's gift. To some people."

“…You really think it’s lovely?” Sherlock seemed abruptly and immensely flattered by what John had said and he smiled at him. “Not _exactly_ something I’d hear when people talk about male genitalia. Not heard one be called ‘lovely’ before.” He laughed and his stomach muscles tensed attractively, erection bobbing. “Yours is really quite nice too.”

"I haven't even taken these off yet," John laughed, thumbing at his own waistband. "Hang on...you haven't been doing anything... _weird_ , have you?" he asked, looking slightly perturbed.

Sherlock tilted his head, “Weird in what way?”

"...Well, you're _always_ drugging me. You haven't set up cameras in my room or something, have you?"

“I’m slightly offended by that,” Sherlock scoffed. “I am not ‘always’ drugging you at all! – You _really_ do like to fictitiously exaggerate the most smallest of things.” He pushed his fingers through John’s hair, dragging his nails across his scalp. “I don’t set up secret bloody hidden cameras. You’re mistaking me for someone else. Someone pompous and horridly frustrating, who carries an umbrella.”

" _Ugh_ ," John grimaced. "New rule...no talking about your brother in the bedroom." He grasped Sherlock's swollen pink shaft and weighed it, feeling it twitch. "You could do some damage with this."

Sherlock shuddered and seemed to hold his breath for a moment, “ _Damage_?” he echoed and seemed marginally worried, looking at it as it thickened and extended an inch or so more alongside his heightening eagerness.

"God, _look_ at it," John cooed, with some fascination. He gave it a few long, tight strokes, his other hand kneading Sherlock's lean thigh.

Sherlock lifted his hips and dropped his head back in pleasure, “I’m…very glad you…like it – _Extremely_ glad.”

"It belongs to you. Of _course_ I'd like it," John spoke, eyes on Sherlock's lax features as he pumped a little faster. "...Oh...that ring? Don't lose it. It's priceless now."

“Ring?—Oh. _The_ ring,” Sherlock said, flexing with John’s ministrations while he lifted his hand with the plastic ring, fiddling with it briefly, turning it around and around on his finger.

"'Fiancé.' Amazing," John laughed happily to himself. He leant down, pausing with an intense gleam in his eye, before he dared to suck slightly on the turgid, bittersweet head of Sherlock's penis.

Sherlock made an abrupt loud and broken noise in response, and grappled for John’s nape, then the bedding, messing it up under his clinging and digging fingers, “ _Oh God_ …” he choked out, his erection bulging and oozing more pre-ejaculate across John’s tongue.

Pulling back, John licked around his mouth with a curious expression on his face. Swallowing, he met Sherlock’s glazed eyes briefly, and finally removed his own underwear, throwing it to the hardwood floor.

Stunned and red in the face, Sherlock looked down with a wheeze of arousal and a taut bob of his penis, “ _Oh_ …” he whispered, covering his face with one shaking hand.

John gave himself a few quick strokes, and then reached for Sherlock's pale hand, plucking it from his face, "Are you alright down there?"

“Fine,” Sherlock squeaked, instantly mortified by the noise and clenching his eyes shut. “I’m fine. _Just_ fine…”

John kissed him, a slow and tender peck, one that soon evolved into a firmer, more insistent smooch. Bracing himself over Sherlock, he used one hand to feel the topography of the detective's chest and sides, occasionally skimming over a mole or soft scar. Sherlock moaned at his attentions and reached to respond in kind, pushing his hands down John’s back so he could claw his way back up, his entire frame trembling while John crowded in closer, settling his weight, and began demanding entrance to Sherlock's mouth, swiping his tongue rhythmically, and suggestively, against tender reddened lips.

Huffing with an unfurling grin, Sherlock flirtatiously turned his head aside, nuzzling at John’s cheek before going back for a kiss and submitting to John’s insistent actions, letting out a low and wet sigh. He pulled John in with his winding arms and held him with a tight, uncontrollable quiver, and John basked in their combined heat and the touch of naked skin. Sherlock’s penis throbbed again, leaking and rigid, and he nudged it up with wild tips of his hips.

John laughed into the wet kiss and met him with his own erection, hissing raggedly at the sensation, " _Oh_ , Sherlock...that's it... _God_ ," he hissed, panting.

“I have some…um… _stuff_ …in my…” Sherlock trailed off and rutted madly, overtaken with pleasure as their genitals pushed and rubbed with hot, slick friction. He groaned, fingers clinging to John’s waist, nails cutting into skin, and closed his eyes.

" _Really_?" John asked, sounding surprised. "And, um...protection?"

Sherlock blinked sluggishly and then took a long inhale, “No. Not that. I don’t normally need that…”

"I, um...right," John said, his face fairly stinging with blushes. "...Are you sure you're prepared for this?" he asked as tactfully as he could.

“…For _what_ exactly?” Sherlock murmured as he gave a smearing, messy but affectionate kiss. “Not really decided what we’re doing yet…” He stroked along John’s spine and then gave him another kiss, arching his hips up again.

"Well... _any_ of it. If you're not...used to it," John tried, sounding flat. "We _definitely_ don't have to have full sex."

Sherlock appeared instantly ashamed of his lack of experience and leaned back against the mattress, turning his head away, “All right…”

“Just so I know…but you don’t have to tell me, of course – when _was_ the last time you…were _with_ someone?” John queried gently, tilting Sherlock’s angular face back to look at him.

Avoiding eye contact, Sherlock shrugged and stroked up and around John’s shoulders in a distracting sort of way, “I don’t recall.”

"Okay. Fair enough. I won't ask any more," John soothed him, kissing him briefly. "I'm going to...just try something. Tell me if it doesn't feel right." He trailed his hand pointedly down Sherlock's body until he reach his hips once more. Drifting across, and down, he used his knuckles to gently push the detective's thighs further apart, and then pressed the reassuring weight of his fingertips against the other man's perineum.

Sherlock reacted with a garbled groan of pleasure and shock, jolting at the feeling, “ _God_ …feels fine… _just_ fine…” he hissed through his teeth, hips giving a twitch.

"And if I get your lubricant and go a bit further...is that okay too?" John asked, tingling with relief and sheer arousal at the progress they were making.

Nodding briskly with a strained and eager grunt, Sherlock swept a shaking arm aside and motioned to one of his bedside drawers, “It’s…it should be in there,” he said, grabbing at John’s waist with his other hand.

John felt Sherlock's eyes on him as he leaned across and rummaged through some drawing pins, cigarettes (damn it, Sherlock) and a few damaged seashells. Finding the sticky bottle, he glanced at the blurb on the back, seeing the best before date and frowning.

“…Problem?” Sherlock asked, lifting his head in question and then trying to peer at the bottle himself.

"I take it you don't use this very much? It's nearly two years out of date."

“No, I don’t really use it much – It’s been a while, as I said,” Sherlock mumbled and scowled sourly as he snatched at it to look himself. He opened it and eyed the contents, then sniffed it, before tasting a bit of it.

"I mean...it'd still do the job...but I'd rather everything was optimum," John chuckled, tossing the half-empty bottle into the empty bin in the corner of the room. "I'll be right back. _Don't_ go anywhere."

“ _Hurry_ ,” Sherlock complained, pushing his mouth to John’s jaw and neck, stroking and then awkwardly patting John’s bare shoulder.

John jogged upstairs, grinning to himself at the novelty of running around the flat completely naked, and soon returned to his detective, promptly hauling himself onto the bed in one smooth movement, landing mouth-to-mouth on Sherlock, pump-bottle in hand.

With a muffled laugh, Sherlock wove his arms back around him, kissing John contentedly, “I rather think that was the _fastest_ I’ve ever seen you move.”

"I was properly motivated," John shrugged easily, smooching him with an extravagant moan, and laughing happily into the kiss as he bumped his hips against Sherlock once more.

Sherlock was still as hot, hard, eagerly wet and just as sensitive as before, and he groaned at the motion, squirming between John and the mattress, “ _Good_ ,” he rumbled, trailing his lips over John’s face lustfully, pressing small, gentle pecks to his nose, cheeks, eyelids and eyebrows.

"I can't _wait_ to see this, Sherlock," John confessed quietly, trying to quickly prepare the fingers of his left hand while the taller man continued to paw at him.

Bending his legs up as he spread them further, Sherlock adjusted himself and cradled John’s head and neck, “Mm?” he hummed.

"To see you come," John elaborated bluntly. "To watch your _cock_ erupt _all over me_." He swallowed down the saliva that was infiltrating his mouth at the delicious thought, bombarded with mental images of such a thing.

Sherlock paused with a jerk and a shiver, “ _Oh God yes_ …” he breathed, taking a moment to compose and gather himself, hands slipping down John’s back. “You carry on saying things like _that_ though and it’ll happen _very_ soon.” Sherlock kissed him on the cheek, nipping at the corner of his mouth, and then leaned back to look up at him with a new flush.

"Not until I get my fingers inside you," John told him with playful sternness, making sure Sherlock was in no doubt as to his use of the plural.

An impish expression rippled across Sherlock’s face, so he hid it into John’s shoulder for a few seconds, and darted his gaze around the room in nervous anticipation, “And _when_ will that be?” he breathed.

" _Imminently_ ," John chuckled, scrunching his fingers together with soft, slick sounds, warming the lubricant, before easing back, propping himself on his elbows between Sherlock's lean, pale legs, and beginning to massage around his testicles.

Sherlock’s toes were already curled, but with John’s slow, provocative touches, they curled tighter, and his ribs expanded in a deep, sharp, audible inhale. It was obvious he was unused to the sensations and also quite obvious he enjoyed them, as his firm erection bounced twice with the canting of his hips. John smirked with satisfaction, and he made sure to watch Sherlock's expression as he probed with his middle finger, inexorably, around and around where he wanted to be. Sherlock's beautiful face seemed an awfully long way away, he had never been with a partner so tall, and so he had a hard time fixating on his features when a concave, trembling stomach, rust-coloured nipples and twitching limbs were vying for his attention.

There was a brief moment when Sherlock scrambled for himself, squeezing on the base of his shaft, and he cringed and turned his head away in clear embarrassment, mumbling under his breath incoherently. His skin was gleaming with a thin, glistening layer of sweat, and he shifted once again, moving his hips and tensing his thighs.

"Deep breath," John smiled, smoothly pushing inside his partner with his finger, twisting slightly from side to side to gain more territory within the other man, red-hot, crushingly-tight, and pulsing tellingly.

“Oh. _God_. That’s… _really_ something,” Sherlock said on a wheezing breath, heavily panting and tightening his grasp.

"You _might_ not know this, but you have a G-spot, you know. Right...about... _here_ ," John murmured in concentration, while he probed very tenderly in the right direction, hooking his finger to graze the man's untouched prostate.

Sherlock choked and coughed on his quick intake of air, and bucked with a small spurt of pre-ejaculate. An engrossing sight that John knew he’d never be able to forget. Not that he wanted to. Sherlock then stared widely, overwhelmed and shaking, completely stunned by what had coursed through him at such a simple, fleeting touch. By the sounds of it, Sherlock was almost on the verge of hyperventilating; his penis flushed a darker shade of red.

" _More_?" John asked, licking his lips and wishing he was at the right angle to lap up the translucent fluid that was puddled on Sherlock's white stomach.

“Uh. Give…give me a moment…” he whispered, unable to control the small tremors raking through his limbs as he clenched his eyes shut.

"Alright. _Fiancé_ ," John added fiendishly, avoiding Sherlock's tender prostate but maintaining a tiny thrusting rhythm with his finger, keeping him open.

Sherlock whimpered and then quickly bit down on his lip to stifle it, brow furrowed in mortification. He nudged John with his knee, “Stop it…” he pouted.

"Perfectly valid terminology. Future _husband_ ," John grinned, kissing the kneecap that had hit him, and then distracting the other man with the sensation of another finger, cool, and wet, penetrating him in miniscule increments.

With a shudder of his abdomen, Sherlock screwed his eyes closed tighter in concentration, steadily calming and controlling himself enough to let go of his penis, “That feels so… _strange_ ,” he muttered, the muscles surrounding John’s fingers clamping down strongly in one fluttering wave.

"...Have you not done this before? To yourself?" John asked, pausing. "I can stop anytime, just say the word. I know it's intense."

“ _Who_ does _this_ to themselves? Who _thinks_ to do this?” Sherlock said with a shocked and croaky tone to his voice. “Have _you_ done this then? – It’s not exactly unpleasant but I…I hadn’t thought many would think of doing this to themselves…”

John flushed, sheepish, "Well...maybe not. I tried it when I was a teenager. Out of pure curiosity. And it sort of...stuck. I don't do it _every_ time, mind you. It's pretty draining," he admitted.

Sherlock snorted and then chuckled deeply, “I suppose it _would_ be taxing doing it on your own,” he said, reaching to drift his fingers up John’s bicep.

"So...in with two?" John asked, his arm jerking at the tickling sensation of Sherlock's fingers, and his scar giving a ghostly sort of throb as the damaged nerves at the junction of his shoulder tried to figure out if he was feeling pleasure or pain.

With a nod, Sherlock flexibly splayed his legs a bit more and lifted his hips with another clench of muscle, “Keep going,” he told John.

John stared helplessly as Sherlock presented himself more wantonly, and coughed as he aspirated on more saliva. "... _God_ , seriously. You're so... _open_ ," he observed in wonderment, taking the moment to slip his two fingers fully inside Sherlock, loosening the tension in his wrist in case the other man bucked.

“Isn’t that a… _good_ thing?” Sherlock asked him within a gasp, arching his head back with a small, quavering moan.

"Yes, it's just...it's a _lot_ of trust. For _anyone_. _Especially_ for you," John replied using his other hand to cradle the head of Sherlock's penis lovingly, thumbing at the cooling liquid there, pinching the plump crown with infinite care.

“I trust you. _Completely_.” Sherlock glanced at him and shuddered with a rolling lift of his hips, moving to hold onto any part of John that he could reach.

"Okay, I think you're going to last alright. For me to take you. One more finger, honey." John was teasing his ring finger against Sherlock's damp, hot entrance, when he stilled at his own words. " _Sorry_ , I...that just slipped out."

“I _do_ like honey,” Sherlock laughed with a throaty underlying growl, rocking up to John and then down onto his fingers in curiosity. “Although, _dear God_ – You’re _not_ going to say that, are you? It’s _terribly_ cliché. ‘Honey I’m home!’” The teasing, mischievous look on his face was almost overthrown by his heightened arousal, but John caught sight of it nonetheless.

"Fat chance. You would either already know I'm on the way home with your psychic powers, or I'd say it and be _completely_ ignored. Like I said, I don't think much will change," John laughed, smoothing over Sherlock's prostate a few times.

Sherlock twitched and jerked with each touch, his penis bulging as he wiggled around, oozing further upon his tensed stomach, “I nuh-never ignore you— _Oooh_! God. _Fuck_. That’s… _that_ …” he trailed off with a bitten off whine and rocked his hips again.

John's eyes and smile widened almost comically, and he sniggered in delight, "It's _good_ to hear you swear," he said, slipping the tip of his third finger inside Sherlock, scissoring and pulsing painstakingly with the first two, his fingertips now wrinkled with the tight, damp heat inside.

“ _Really_? Why?” Sherlock asked, though he was barely paying much attention. His face was slackening and tightening with quickening ripples of pleasure while he writhed his hands to grip and twist the bed covers between and under his fingers. The blush of arousal had now travelled down his body. It splattered his entire chest, half of his stomach, his pelvis, and the inside of his thighs in a rich adorable pink.

"Because it means that _this_ is working," John smirked up at him, breeching Sherlock's body with his third finger, thumbing the detective's darkened shaft comfortingly.

With a faint grimace, Sherlock wriggled sluggishly and heaved out a breath, “Of… _course_ it’s working. It’s working a bit _too_ much – _John_ …I don’t know how long I can…” he tried to gesture with his clinging hands yet only managed to ripple the covers under him.

"Shh, it's alright. We're nearly there. If you're ready?" John asked breathlessly, still pulsing his soaked fingers inside Sherlock, his other hand instinctively going to his own cock and priming himself with a few rapid pumps.

Sherlock nodded, “Now or…never really,” he whispered, although he quirked his mouth. “Well, no, that’s not true. I’d not say _never_ …” He huffed out a small, throaty chuckle, and bent his legs up with a roll of his hips, arching his spine.

"Now, and then _repeatedly_ , if all goes well," John laughed, slowly retracting his numb and wrinkled fingers, subtly wiping them on the crisp white bed sheets, and then pausing. "What position would you like? On all fours?"

Sherlock seemed both anxious and extremely shy, but then he blanked his face, as best he could, and swallowed, “If that’s the best way?”

"Well...for the first time, it might be best for _both_ of us. Actually...one minute," John said to himself, gently encouraging Sherlock to turn on his front. He then nudged a pillow beneath him and tested to see if he could scoop his hand under and comfortably stimulate the taller man's shaft. "How's this?"

“ _Fine_.” Sherlock shuddered with a barely stifled gasp of pleasure, wetting John’s fingers with another bloom of obvious interest, and shifted up a little on his forearms. Peeking back, Sherlock gave him a wonky smile, the muscles in his back flexing and rippling as he pushed the coiled, sweaty curls from his temples.

"You're _very_ wet. It's like a...well, it's _really_ hot," John muttered, blushing self-consciously. He dragged his hands down Sherlock's extensive spine, humming appreciatively at little twitches of muscles and damp skin. He stopped when he got to the detective's wonderful backside, plump and muscled and yet wonderfully bouncy. He knew this because he gave a few playful taps to the rosy mounds.

Dimples nestled gently above his buttocks deepened as Sherlock tensed and laughed breathlessly in response, “I _knew_ you’d want to do that,” he husked.

"I'm only human," John shrugged, kneading them firmly, smoothing his palms up and around them, squeezing spontaneously. "The most _incredible_ arse. Seriously," he cooed.

Sherlock snorted and gathered another pillow close to rest his head on as he pushed up a bit on his knees and lowered his torso to the bed, arcing his spine in a lean, elongated sweep of flushed skin and muscle, “Yours isn’t so bad either,” he mumbled friskily.

"We'll swap round next time. You can molest mine as long as you want," John promised. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, running damp fingers down the silky heat between the other man's buttocks.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, even as he adjusted his knee placement and shuffled back toward John.

John didn't respond, just laved a few messy, token kisses upon Sherlock's spine, and then took himself in hand, wasting no time in slicking then nudging his swollen tip between the other man's cheeks, steering it up and down a few times, groaning thickly.

Twitching in sensitivity, Sherlock rasped an eager sounding grunt, “ _Yes_ …”

"Kay, ready," John hissed, finally focussing on his own dormant pleasure and crying out in glorious anguish as his crown breeched Sherlock, immediately swallowed by the tight, blood-hot muscle.

There was a faint, quick sound from Sherlock and a clenching pulse, but then his body relaxed in a flutter, vibrating with a deep, chest-filling moan. Sherlock clung to the pillow with spastic grasps of his hands and turned his face into it with another moan, muffling it and the next few deep, shaking breaths as he fought to keep himself still. It was fantastically intoxicating.

John accidentally sank into velvety wet heat another inch as he adjusted himself to scoot under Sherlock's body and do his best to begin to stroke him off, his movements erratic but enthusiastic. Trying to regulate his breathing, he frowned against consuming pleasure, his exhales sounding out in sharp, high-pitched gasps.

“ _Don’t_ do that…” Sherlock groaned into the pillow, reaching to slap John’s hand away just when his penis oozed thickly. Lifting his head, Sherlock shivered and shifted, clamping down around John in a hot, vice-like throb while he, once again, adjusted his knee placement. “Don’t touch me for a…moment or two. I’m _extremely_ close already…”

John blew out a long breath, and was distantly tickled to see the skin of Sherlock's back twitch and goosebump in response, "Right... _okay_...I'm nearly there, gorgeous." Taking his weight on his hands and angling his hips for a smoother entrance, John finally sank in fully, immediately stung by the coarsest need to start fucking into him as hard and fast as he could.

Whining through his teeth, Sherlock’s skin took on another patchwork of blushed blotches and he aimlessly scrambled to hold on to something. He quickly found the headboard, curling his long fingers around it with increasing strength, his bowed back bunched with unstoppable tremors that ran down the entire length of his stretched out and heaving torso, the corded muscle of his biceps bulging as he altered the location of his arms. Sherlock looked like a sculpture in the low light of the bedroom, highlighted from the light outside the window, and it was a sight John knew he didn’t want to forget.

"Sherlock - you're just - _mind-blowing_ ," John panted, letting his head hang down, eyes closed under an intense scowl of pleasure. Heaving a few breaths, he tried two long, painfully slow thrusts, his hips bruising against luscious buttocks. Reflexively, he keened, anxious to express his arousal through vocalisation, to try and prevent himself starting to rut mindlessly instead.

Sherlock shifted forward slightly with John’s actions and let out a purring growl of pleasure, “Mm. _Again_ …”

"God, this is _incredible_ ," John seethed, easing himself forward and angling downward experimentally, easing along Sherlock's tight passage, hoping to hit his sweet spot.

The moment he did so, in a brief and gentle graze, Sherlock exclaimed loudly and bucked forward, almost dislodging John in the process, “ _Fuck_!”

" _Woah_ ," John chuckled ecstatically, grinning as he moved his hands to Sherlock's hips and held them tightly, pressing down on him. "Easy, boy."

Sherlock’s thighs violently shook, and he whimpered through gritted teeth, shooting a glare over his shoulder that looked highly and wantonly erotic, “ _Shut up_ ,” he mumbled, brow gleaming with sweat.

John glared good-naturedly back, adoring the sheen on his pale skin, the wilted mess of his dark hair. He promptly started pounding into him noisily, his damp hips slapping deliciously against that plump arse, his own breath ragged and shallow. He was lost now. Lost to Sherlock, to everything about him, about what they were doing. Why had it taken them this long?

Bouncing forward with a hitching gasp, Sherlock clenched his toes, submissively swaying without resistance, hands clawing and clasping until his knuckles turned white, “Oh… _oh God_ ,” he whispered, words pushed out with each rough and audible exhale. Sherlock was pliant and yielding under John’s hands for several moments, moaning lowly, lasciviously, until he began rocking back into John, his hips angled and his back muscles bundled as he met each of John’s thrusts with his own.

" _Come on_ sweetheart," John panted, swallowing down his frantic effort. "That's it. _Come_. _Fucking come all over yourself_ ," he demanded, forcing himself harder inside the man, scratching an itch that seemed reluctant to be sated, feeling his own climax aching to explode.

As they moved together, faster and harder and wilder, Sherlock started grunting thickly with each snap of John’s hips, his head dropping forward and then back as he got louder and louder with raising passion and fervour. John had been with vocal partners before but Sherlock’s exceedingly deep, gravelly voice made each vocalisation rumble through the both of them like an electric current. It surrounded the air about them, making it almost shiver across John’s sweat-slicked, hypersensitive flesh.

It was addicting, distracting, enchanting, and highly arousing, yet somehow, John wasn’t exactly sure how, he managed to pick up on something beyond Sherlock’s provocative and enticing sounds, and quickly scrambled to cover the detective’s mouth just as the front door to 221B closed shut.

Sherlock frowned, groaning deep and resonating, too lost to the sensations to hear anything outside his own clawing want for pleasure and release. It was only when Mrs Hudson began happily humming a festive melody, as she opened up her own flat, that Sherlock heard her, and he froze in place, clamping around John with a firm, twitching heat.

John yelped out before he could stop himself with the shock and delight of being crushed even tighter within Sherlock, and knew that he couldn't have pulled out even if he'd wanted to. Biting his lip, John strained to hear where their landlady was and what she was doing, but Sherlock's loud breaths were dampening and heating his palm, and he had to fight, and fight hard, to concentrate enough and focus on her location.

There was a distant and muffled few noises, which John assumed were Mrs Hudson’s tipsy shuffling feet, and then a creak on the stairs as she ascended. John tried to listen more intently, hardly able to hear much over his relentlessly beating heart, which thumped in both his throat and his temples, the buzzing, building need to move again only making it race further.

Thankfully, she didn’t go all the way up, just far enough to see the obvious lack of light from their living room, and then sighed, returning back to her flat still humming the soft melody. Just as her flat door shut behind her, Sherlock shifted and slowly undulated his body letting loose a low, quiet moan, urging John in sound and then action, kissing and licking his hand. John dragged his moist palm down Sherlock's long throat, and then reapplied his grip to his hips. Not, however, before giving a sweet little slap to one of the rosy buttocks in front of him.

Sherlock twitched, an aroused rumble erupting from the back of his throat and shot a promiscuous grin over his shoulder with an arched eyebrow, “I suppose we have to be quiet now?” he murmured, an impish gleam to his eyes, undoubtedly finding the prospect thrilling.

"I _bet_ you can't," John challenged, swivelling his hips and then pulling Sherlock forcibly back onto him, impaling him deeper, whilst he himself stayed still.

Giving a broken, pleasure-filled wail, Sherlock reached back with flailing arms to dig shaking fingers into John’s waist, “Th-that’s _not_ fair,” he got out, laughing breathlessly. He shook for a moment, his hips automatically tipping forward and back, and then Sherlock clenched down around John in three strong, purposeful, clenches in retaliation.

"Argh, _God_!" John exclaimed throatily, giving Sherlock another reprimanding spank. "Oh, that's _it_ ," he warned, before using one hand to push Sherlock's head down to the bed, holding him there with fingers lost in his dishevelled curls. Seconds later, he was fucking him in earnest.

With a deep and positively loud exclamation, Sherlock shifted his legs, lifted his hips some more, and raucously began moaning and grunting with each thrust, “Mm… _yes_ …fuck… _John_ ,” he somehow got out amongst the mass of noises he was making.

" _Shh_!" John managed, snickering wheezily as his fingers tightened in Sherlock's damp ringlets. "...Ah, God, I'm close. _So_ close," he admitted, rocking furiously into his partner, the bed starting to squeak tellingly.

“Yes…yes,” Sherlock replied and extended both arms backward to grip John, clawing at the skin there and leaving lines of pale red in his wake. “ _Yes_!”

"Sherlock, _Sherlock_! God, _please_ come!" John begged desperately, grunting helplessly as the bedframe began rapping against the wall with a rhythmic, metallic clang.

Seizing one of John’s hands, Sherlock yanked it from where it was clinging to his hip and tugged it under his trembling, shifting body to where he was soaking the covers in pre-ejaculate, his penis hard and scorching hot, “ _Touch_ me,” he gasped with an almost deafening growl of want.

"So _wet_ , so...God, fucking... _perfect_ ," John moaned gratingly, obediently taking hold of the slick and slippery organ. Flicking his wrist, and draining his last reserves of concentration and restraint, he keened deafeningly, beginning to hit the dizzying, excruciating peak of his climax.

It only took a few strokes of his hand and another dozen, snapping, wild thrusts before Sherlock was going taut in orgasm and spilling copiously over John’s fingers and up the bed. He cried out, erratically rutting without control, taken up and consumed by pleasure as his muscles locked tight in a rough, convulsive spasm that seemed somehow endless.

John's head went back, teeth gritted hard enough to hurt his jaw, and he yowled, coughing out high-pitched sobs, and fucking into Sherlock hard enough to bruise both of them while he blessedly, finally climaxed.

Sherlock slumped limp, breathing hard and quivering in aftershock, still basking in the echoing rush of satisfaction, “Dear…God…” he rasped with a panting laugh, which only managed to tighten muscles around John’s oversensitive skin in a ripple.

" _Yes_...you beautiful...thing," John whispered, overwhelmed, sweat stinging his eyes and his own muscles shivering from exertion. He pulled out gently, then managed to crawl to lie beside Sherlock, feeling totally shattered.

With careful and limp movements, Sherlock shoved the soiled cover aside, straightened out his legs and lay down on his stomach with a long, quaking sigh, “We should…do that again…” he mumbled indolently, a beaming smile on his flushed face. One of his hands, the left with the plastic ring still present, moved to coil around John’s wrist warmly. “John? I…think I should tell you something…something I should have said earlier actually…”

"If it's bad news, _don't_ tell me," John laughed, coughing slightly. He groaned as he rolled to face his partner, and planted his other hand loosely upon Sherlock's.

Sherlock shuffled lazily until he was close enough to kiss him, “I’m _desperately_ in love with you,” he whispered. “And you shagging me into oblivion only made my want for you _stronger_.” He snorted and nuzzled John’s jaw. “Furthermore, I’m _fairly_ certain Mrs Hudson heard us.”

"You know what? I agree with _all_ of the above. Love you too, Sherlock. Happy New Year," John murmured, hugging him closer.

 

**Author's Note:**

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